Rebeccah and the Highwayman

by Barbara Davies

  “What?” Kate arched an eyebrow - the only body part she had the energy to move.

  “Nothing,” said Alice. “You look exhausted.”

  “I could sleep for a week.” She closed her eyes.

  In the event though, Kate was too wound up to manage more than a couple of hours of fitful sleep. She kept waking in a sweat from dreams in which she was a fox, her attempts to escape the dogs baying at her heels constantly thwarted by the huntsman’s bugle. The fourth time she woke, her pounding heart slowing as she took in familiar surroundings, the sparrows were chirping in the eaves, so she gave up and simply lay, resting and thinking about alternatives.

  Could she bear to be away from London, even for a week? Her friends and dependants were here, and so was her livelihood. But who will look after Mama and Ned’s family if you are in jail, eh? And then there was Rebeccah. How long before she marries her suitor and forgets all about you?

  That thought depressed her, and she pushed it away and rolled over. A chink in the calico curtains had allowed through a stray sunbeam, and on Alice’s bedside table something was glittering a deep, rich red. Careful not to wake the snoring woman, Kate reached for it.

  The object in her palm was a garnet signet ring, carved with the initials JD. Kate could not have been more amazed if Queen Anne herself had burst into her bedchamber and told her that Kate was the rightful Queen of England. What was Rebeccah’s ring doing here, of all places?

  Anger replaced shock, and she turned and shook Alice none too gently. “Wake up.” The snores stopped and dazed grey eyes looked at her. “Where in blazes did you get this?”

  Kate thrust the ring into the landlady’s face, and Alice’s eyes crossed as she tried to focus on it, then widened. Her cheeks pinked. For Kate that was evidence enough.

  “Rebeccah Dutton was here, wasn’t she? She came to see me and you kept it from me.”

  Alice pushed away Kate’s hand and sat up. “I was going to tell you about it last night.” Her tone was petulant. “But you were exhausted.”

  “When did she come? What did she want?”

  “Give me a moment, will you?” Alice rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It was early evening. I forget exactly when. She didn’t say much, only that she needed your help, and that there was no time to waste.” Kate’s expression made her add quickly, “But I set no store by that. These gentlefolk with their airs and graces. Everything is urgent with them, and if they can’t have it this minute it’s the end of the world.”

  Kate threw back the bedclothes and got out. “Devil take it, Alice!” She drew back the curtain to let in the light. “How could you not tell me of this last night? Rebeccah would not lightly ask for my help.” She pulled out the chamberpot and used it.

  “Well, how was I to know? It’s not as if you’ve ever talked about her.” The landlady’s resentment was obvious.

  “That I told her how to reach me should have showed you I trust her.” Kate crossed to the chest of drawers, grabbed her breeches and hose, and began to dress. “I only pray I’m not too late.”

  “You can’t go out in those,” objected Alice. “Josselin -“

  “Will recognise me no matter what I wear.” Kate tied her hair at the nape, bound her breasts with a strip of cotton, then pulled on her shirt and waistcoat.

  A mutinous silence fell while she continued dressing, then Alice muttered, “Why did you not tell me of her?”

  Kate stamped her feet into her boots, tied her cravat, and reached for her coat. “There was nothing to tell.”

  “Liar! Your eyes light up at the merest mention of her. And it’s obvious you can’t wait to go to her.”

  Kate tucked the ring safely in her waistcoat pocket. “She needs my help.” What kind of trouble can Rebeccah be in that she needs to come to me?

  Striding through to the other room, she took the baldric from its hook and settled it over her shoulders, making sure the sword slid smoothly in its scabbard. If she were ill she’d send for an apothecary, wouldn’t she?

  A barefoot Alice appeared in the doorway. “After all I’ve done for you … given you the run of my rooms, not to mention my bed.”

  Kate glanced at the other woman in irritation. “I owe Rebeccah my life.”

  Alice blinked. “Your life! Yet you did not mention her once.”

  Because I knew you would be jealous, thought Kate guiltily. And because I wanted to keep her to myself. “Well you know about her now.”

  Alice folded her arms. “Ay. But only because she came here in person. When were you planning to tell me about her, Kate? Or weren’t you? Were you planning to sneak off to her bed one night and never come back?”

  “Alice,” warned Kate. She had no time for this now. She crammed on her tricorne, slung her saddlebags over her shoulder, and reached for the door handle.

  “She may be younger and richer, her skin smoother, eyes brighter, her figure more shapely, but I warn you, Kate, she’s not one of us. She can’t possibly understand you the way I do. You’re nothing but an exotic specimen to add to her collection. She’ll tire of you, and then where will you be?”

  Kate paused. All she had to do was lie to Alice, soothe her wounded feelings, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The other woman’s eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her breast.

  “Oh! You never did love me, did you?”

  Pox on it! What a time to have this conversation. “Alice …” Kate began.

  “No.” The other woman’s tone was bitter. “Your silence is eloquent enough. But if you go to her, don’t expect me to take you back.”

  Kate pursed her lips then nodded. “Very well. I never meant things to end badly between us. But if that is what you wish … I shall send for the rest of my things as soon as I am able.”

  She pulled open the front door and started down the stairs two steps at a time. Halfway down, an anguished cry wafted down the stairwell to her.

  “Kate,” wailed Alice. “Come back. I didn’t mean it. Don’t leave me!”

  But it was too late for that. The words that had passed between them could not be withdrawn or forgotten, even had Kate wanted to, and right now Rebeccah needed her help. Clenching her jaw against the increasingly frantic cries, she continued down the stairs.

  Fruit and vegetable traders were wheeling overflowing barrows or setting out their stalls when Kate rode through the marketplace. Curious glances followed her, and she resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders, though she did pull her tricorne lower over her forehead. Without her mask she felt vulnerable, but it would attract unwanted attention and Josselin knew what she looked like now anyway.

  “After this, perhaps we’ll head for York for a while,” she murmured, patting Clover’s neck. “Think you’d like that?” The mare ignored her and concentrated on keeping her footing on the cobblestones.

  Kate headed left into St. Martin’s Lane, then right, taking back streets to the Hay Market. She liked this time of the day. London was waking up, and yawning servants were flinging open shutters, slopping out chamberpots, dragging in the sea coal, queuing at the pump for buckets of water, or greeting the milkmaids with their heavy churns.

  At the entrance to St. James’s Square, she dismounted and walked the rest of the way, using Clover as a shield against prying eyes. At the top of the steps leading down to the Duttons’ back yard, she looped the mare’s reins through the railing. “Wait there,” she ordered, and started down.

  The back door was open, and from the kitchen she could hear the chatter and bustle of the servants. She was about to go in when a skinny young woman in an apron blocked her path. She was carrying a covered chamberpot.

  The two gaped at one another, then the maid said tartly, “And what do you want?”

  Kate used her gruffest voice. “Is Mary at home?”

  The maid shifted her grip on the chamberpot and yelled to those indoors, “Mary. There’s a … a gentleman to see you.”

  “Gentleman? At this hour? Pull the other one,” came a f
amiliar voice, growing louder as its owner approached. “If it’s that rogue who sold cook those pies - more gristle than meat, they were! - I’ll give him a piece of my - Oh, it’s you!”

  “Know ‘im, do you, Mary?” The maid grinned at the dumpy woman who had appeared in the doorway.

  “None of your business, Nancy. And are you going to stand there clutching that chamberpot like it’s your own babe or empty the smelly thing?”

  With a last curious look at Kate, Nancy flounced off, presumably to find the cesspit.

  “Good morrow, Mary.” Kate tipped her hat. “Your mistress sent for me.”

  “Indeed she did. But you took so long about it she has all but given you up.” Before Kate could explain, Mary tugged her inside.

  “My horse,” she protested.

  “Will,” said Mary, as she led Kate through the kitchen and towards the servants’ stairs, “keep an eye on the horse outside, will you?” The footman looked up from polishing the silver, blinked at Kate, then smiled and nodded.

  “Oh, she’ll be so glad you have come at last,” said Mary, puffing as she climbed the narrow steps. “She hasn’t slept a wink all night. She is at her wits’ end.” She hustled Kate into the parlour.

  “What is it? What is wrong?” And why has she come to me and not asked her suitor for help? But Mary had already pulled the door closed and darted away to fetch her mistress.

  Kate tried to still her impatience by examining her surroundings. The room was large and pleasantly airy, with a fine plaster ceiling and newfangled wallpaper rather than wainscoting. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass between the two sash windows, grimaced, and turned away, just as the rustle of skirts, murmur of voices, and sound of hurried footsteps alerted her that someone was coming.

  The door swung open and Rebeccah entered. Kate’s heart leapt in her chest at the sight of the young woman.

  “You came!” Pale cheeks flushed with colour as Rebeccah gazed at Kate. “I should have known better than to doubt you. Forgive me.” She held out both hands, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Kate to move forward and grasp them.

  With a pang she noted the dullness of once sparkling eyes, and the presence of deep shadows beneath them. “What is it, my dear? What has brought such a frown to that pretty face?”

  Rebeccah glanced at the watching Mary, who nodded and left them alone together. “It is my sister. She is missing.” Green eyes glistened.

  “Missing?” Kate led Rebeccah over to the sofa. “Since when?” She released Rebeccah’s hands, until they were both sat down, then clasped them again.

  “Since yesterday evening. … Titus is missing too.”

  The name meant nothing to Kate. “Titus?”

  “One of our footmen. Anne’s favourite.”

  “Their coach has been delayed?”

  “No.” Rebeccah took a deep breath. “Titus went to see the hanging and came back the worse for drink. Indeed his inebriation may be the cause of this, for I cannot believe even he would have done something this outrageous otherwise.”

  A memory surfaced of a handsome young footman, his mouth stuffed with Kate’s kerchief to stop his swearing. “Ah. I recollect the man. His teeth once bruised my knuckles, I think.” Rebeccah nodded. “But your sister? Where was she last seen.”

  “In her bedchamber. But when her fianc?, Mr. Ingrum, came to call, she could not be found.”

  “I see.” Kate’s mind was whirling. “And you think Anne and Titus …”

  “Are together, yes. But not willingly.”

  “Not willingly!” repeated Kate.

  “He must have taken her from here against her will, conveyed her somewhere in a sedan.”

  “Some of the chairmen are friends of mine,” said Kate. “They could find out where she went.” Then she grimaced. “But I fear that horse has already bolted.”

  Rebeccah gave her a stricken look. “I know. They have been alone together the whole night, Kate! Anne must surely be ruined by now.” She searched Kate’s face. “Tell me I am being foolish. That this is all but fantasy on my part.”

  “Alas, I cannot. For your sister is an heiress, is she not?” Rebeccah’s groan was answer enough. “But all may not be lost,” said Kate, thinking aloud. “For your footman was drunk when he took Anne from here.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “When a man drinks too much he is incapable of,” Kate searched for the word, “performing. In short, it is unlikely he was able to force himself on your sister.” Rebeccah winced and Kate gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “And that it was so late in the day when he took her may also count in your sister’s favour.”

  “How so?”

  “Fleet weddings are only legal between the hours of 8 and noon.” She glanced at the parlour clock and saw it was still only 7.30 am. Thank the Lord I woke early! “It is true that some marriage houses do not wind their clocks, so that for them it is always morning, but they are unlikely to have been still open when Titus reached them.”

  It was Rebeccah’s turn to glance at the clock. “Then we have half an hour until they open for business.”

  Kate released Rebeccah’s hands and stood up. “Ay. There is no time to lose. I must get to the Rules of the Fleet.” Her suitor would not be able to help her in such a place, but I can.

  “I’m coming with you.” Rebeccah stood up too.

  “The Rules are no place for you, Rebeccah. Why, the stench from the Fleet Ditch alone -“

  “I am not so delicate a flower as you think.” Green eyes flashed.

  “But -“

  “Kate, think. If you manage to rescue Anne from Titus, do you think she will willingly come with the very highwayman she has set Samuel Josselin to catch? Is not she more likely to scream and struggle and attract the attention of the constables?”

  Kate scowled. Rebeccah had a point. “Very well. But we must take your carriage and I need a pistol from my saddlebags. Oh, and Clover must be stabled.”

  Rebeccah gave her a brilliant smile and tugged the bell to summon Will.

  Kate tapped her booted foot as Rebeccah specified what she wanted. While the footman went to do his mistress’s bidding, Rebeccah disappeared upstairs with Mary to change into more suitable attire.

  When Will returned with her saddlebags, Kate thanked him and busied herself loading one of the brace of pistols. Then she tucked it in the waistband of her breeches. Shortly after, Rebeccah reappeared, clad in her wrap and walking shoes.

  “Ready?” asked Kate.

  Rebeccah nodded.

  There was a soft knock at the door. It opened and the maid popped her head round. “Robert has brought the coach, Madam.”

  “Thank you, Mary.” Rebeccah turned and gestured to Kate, who strode past her, and for the first time since she had been at the Dutton Residence used the front door.

  Robert was waiting by the carriage. After a perplexed moment he offered Kate his hand, but she declined his assistance and stepped up nimbly. Seconds later, Rebeccah was settling in next to her.

  The door slammed closed, and Kate felt the coach sway as Robert climbed up into the driver’s seat. “May I?” she asked.

  Rebeccah nodded.

  She rapped her knuckles on the coach roof. “The Rules of the Fleet, Robert. As quick as you can.”

  ***

  The stench was appalling - a mixture of fish guts, offal and Lord knows what else. Rebeccah clapped a gloved hand over her nose and mouth.

  “Don’t say it,” she warned, seeing Kate’s grin.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The highwaywoman looked up at the coachdriver. “Robert, it would attract less attention if you were to drive around for a while. Can you contrive to return here every -” she arched a dark eyebrow at Rebeccah, “- twenty minutes or so?” Rebeccah nodded.

  “Very good, Madam.” The coachman flicked the reins and the horses started forward.

  Rebeccah watched the carriage trundle up the Farringdon Road, taking
with it all that was familiar and civilised, then sighed and squared her shoulders.

  “Let’s start there,” said Kate.

  Rebeccah followed the direction of the pointing finger to the buildings close by the Fleet Bridge. She frowned in puzzlement until she saw that next door to the China shop stood a tavern named the Hand and Pen, and in its window was a sign: a man’s hand joined with a woman’s, bearing the legend ‘Marriages Perform’d Within’.

  Kate started forward, and Rebeccah hurried to keep up with the taller woman, lifting her skirts to avoid the filth. They made their way past a clutter of stalls where traders were selling ripe cheeses, pigeon pies, and cages of raucous hens, then past a barrel full of splashing carp. Overhead, a gull mewed.

  “Won’t let you fuck her till you tie the knot, eh?” called a winkle-seller, noticing their destination. The corner of Kate’s mouth twitched.

  “Got yourself a fine strong fellow,” said a woman selling carrots from a barrow. She winked at Rebeccah. “I’ll wager you’re looking forward to the wedding night.” Rebeccah wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt.

  “Ignore them and keeping walking,” advised Kate.

  It was a relief to finally enter the Hand and Pen, but only for a moment. A smelly fug of pipe smoke and alcohol replaced the stench of the Fleet Ditch. Then a blowsy landlady was coming towards them, asking, “You two wanting to get hitched?”

  Kate took Rebeccah’s hand without asking, adopted the gruff voice she used for Blue-Eyed Nick, and said as though agreeing, “Is the Parson free?”

  The landlady’s grin was gap-toothed. “Ay. Follow me.”

  Wolf-whistles and lewd comments followed them through the bar, as the landlady led them to a private room at the back. Rebeccah’s cheeks flamed afresh but then Kate’s hand squeezed hers, and for a pleasant moment she was distracted by how right it felt. Then thoughts of why they were here returned, and with it overpowering anxiety for her sister’s wellbeing.

  Pray God we find some trace of Anne before it’s too late.

  “Here we are.” The landlady ushered them into a dingy ‘chapel’, a small room, empty apart from a table on which lay a stub of candle and a copy of the Book of Common Prayer, some chairs, and a clock. She halted, folded her arms across her ample bosom, and looked at them.